


And The Shadows Will Whisper: Year Two

by floralandfading



Series: And The Snakes Start To Sing [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dumbledore pulls another defense teacher out of a hat, Eventual Drarry, Ginny Weasley is such an underrated character, Lucius Malfoy done fucked up in this one, Mentor Severus Snape, Protective Severus Snape, Protective Slytherins, Slytherin Harry, anxious and abused harry, giant snake and potential death, gryffindors are rude af, so are the other houses tbh, still a different book drarry, still breaking Severus' heart, wtf was that man thinking with gilderoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 01:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16546025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralandfading/pseuds/floralandfading
Summary: The one where there's a giant snake on the loose and everyone thinks Harry's gone insane.Slytherin AU ft. Anxious!Harry and Mentor!Snape





	And The Shadows Will Whisper: Year Two

He supposed his summer could be worse.

Sitting at a rickety desk, Harry Potter studied the drawing he was working on. It was of two boys, in matching green robes, flying on a pair of broomsticks. The dark-haired boy was supposed to be himself, his hand reaching towards something that hadn’t yet been drawn. Harry picked up his broken goldenrod and added a tiny orb with wings, just beyond the reach of stretched-out fingers. The other boy in the drawing, a lanky blond guarding a trio of rings who was meant to be his best friend, was smiling widely.

“What do you think, girl?” he asked his familiar, as he showed her the finished drawing.

Hedwig, a snowy white owl who was perched inside a wicker cage, hooted approvingly. At least, Harry assumed it was approvingly.

“I just hope he likes it.” Harry frowned, as he brushed back messy black hair with his fingers, revealing the peculiar shaped scar that rested above his right eyebrow. He carefully folded the drawing and slipped it into an envelope. He skimmed the accompanying letter and frowned to himself.

It was a very well-known fact that The Boy Who Lived would be turning twelve in no less than four hours. He had written to the blond asking when his birthday was, as the other had already promised to send a gift his way. In the last letter he received from his best friend, Draco had casually pointed out that the raven-haired Slytherin had already missed his birthday – in fact, it had taken place during the last few days at Hogwarts.

As in, the last few days where Harry Potter was unconscious in the hospital wing after he had deemed it his responsibility to protect an enchanted stone and had fought against a follower of the Dark Lord with no help from anyone else.

Well, maybe a little help.

Sealing the letter to Draco, he hoped the drawing would suffice. He had money of course, but the Potter Vault was full of galleons and was ultimately worthless in the muggle world. He tried to imagine visiting the Asda in town and paying for a lemonade with sickles.

Hedwig hooted again, and this time, it sounded frustrated.

“I know girl, I know.” Harry smiled, sadly. “You know I can’t let you out.”

The owl rustled the cage in response.

“Hush, Hedwig, please,” the small boy begged, as he watched the door apprehensively. “I’ll get in trouble if you don’t stop.”

He wasn’t sure if the owl understood him, but she stopped fussing nonetheless.

“Thank you.”

Harry returned to the envelope, sealing it with his tongue – and grimacing at the taste – and wrote out Draco’s name on the front. “Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.” He looked out the window, where the sky was beginning to turn indigo, and sighed. “I doubt I’ll be able to send this tonight.”

Hedwig hooted contemptuously.

“Don’t give me that.” Harry murmured, as he thought over the list of chores he didn’t get to finish. He had been outside, weeding the garden in the late afternoon sun, when a wave of dizziness had forced him to lay on the grass for several minutes.

His Aunt Petunia had found him then, and began complaining about disobedience and laziness, her voice harsh and low in an effort to keep the neighbors from overhearing.

“Please, Aunt Petunia.” Harry had begged, as he tried to stand back up. “Can I have a snack first? I promise I’ll finish everything right after.”

Instead, his aunt directed him upstairs and into the bedroom he called his own. “Lazy, good-for-nothing nephews don’t get fed.” she had sneered, eyeing him carefully. “Rest if you feel so ill, but just wait until Vernon gets home from work.”

Harry frowned to himself, as he shook himself out of the earlier memory.

It had been nearly a fortnight since he had sent a letter to Draco.

Every now and then, Uncle Vernon would unlock the door to Hedwig’s cage and let her fly outside, only to appease the bird who would wake everyone up with a vengeance in the middle of the night if she became too restless, under the condition that he watch the owl fly away without a letter in her grip.

Hedwig, of course, was a smart bird.

After Uncle Vernon had left the room, Harry would quietly call to his owl and Hedwig, who was usually perched above his window, would swoop down and take the offered letter before flying off.

Harry only hoped she got enough to eat before she came back.

“I’m sure he’ll let you out soon.” Harry told the bird, as he heard Uncle Vernon’s car pull into the driveway. Seconds later, the front door unlocked and he could hear his Aunt Petunia greeting her husband from his long day at work. Harry quickly hid the letter under a stack of crumbling picture books as footsteps sounded up the stairs.

“I heard you’ve been giving your Aunt Petunia a hard time.” Uncle Vernon accused, as he stepped into the small bedroom. He was a heavy-set man with a thick mustache and a temper, who liked to wear expensive-looking tweed jackets and matching hats.

“I wasn’t.”

“Don’t be giving me an attitude, boy.” Vernon warned.

“I’m sorry.”

“How about you make yourself useful and get that stupid bird to shut up.” Uncle Vernon ordered, turning to glare at the owl who was shaking her cage in exasperation.

“She just wants to be let out.” Harry pleaded. “It’s been over a week.”

Uncle Vernon considered the request. “You better get the house in top order before dinner tomorrow.” he finally relented, pulling out his ring of keys and selecting a particularly small one. He unlocked the cage, cursing when Hedwig flew out the window Harry had hurried over to open, hooting excitedly. After the bird had gone, he turned to his nephew. “I’m warning you, boy. Tip. Top. Order.”  
  
“Yes, Uncle Vernon.” Harry looked at the floor, not moving until his uncle had grunted in response and returned downstairs, leaving the door slightly ajar. It was then that Harry noticed the smell of Chinese food wafting upstairs, and it made his mouth water to think about the rice, meat, and whatever else came in those white boxes Uncle Vernon brought home when he worked late.

He turned to the open window. “Hedwig?” he called out, as loudly as he dared. The owl landed on the sill and Harry smiled at her. “Take this to Draco,” he told her, as he pulled the envelope out of its hiding place. “Try to be back by morning, girl. He gets suspicious when you’re gone for too long.”

She trilled softly and took off again.

After the owl had gone, Harry closed his door with the softest click and studied his room.

It was a little cramped, but far bigger than the cupboard under the stairs where he used to sleep in before receiving his acceptance letter to Hogwarts. There was a trundle bed, and even though it creaked when he moved around too much and the mattress was a bit lumpy, it still kept him warm while he slept. He also had a lamp, his desk and chair, a box full of broken toys and old books, and a worn blue rug that used to reside in the downstairs bathroom.

Underneath the rug though, was something better.

There was a loose floorboard, and if you jiggled it just so…it revealed a secret little space where Harry hid most of his secret belongings. There he kept a thin stack of letters from Draco, some paper, a bundle of broken crayons he had collected over the years (all he needed was pink and orange, and he’d have a complete set!), two green army men he had nicked from his cousin, and a handful of neat-looking rocks he had found gardening.

It wasn’t very late yet, but Harry decided to go to bed. His only source of company had gone for the night, the only sound was coming from the telly downstairs, and the longer he stayed awake, the more he thought about how hungry he was.

He hoped Aunt Petunia would take pity on him tomorrow, as it was a rather important day. The Dursleys would be having very important guests tomorrow – important enough for Aunt Petunia to buy herself a new dress. Tomorrow was also Harry’s twelfth birthday, but he doubted anyone would remember.

Still, he supposed his summer could be far worse.

\--

“Wake up!” Aunt Petunia snapped, as she knocked loudly on the door to Harry’s bedroom. “You need to make breakfast before the cleaning gets done.”

“I’m awake.”

He ventured downstairs after getting dressed, fingers running through hair that never wanted to stay flat. Aunt Petunia was sitting at the kitchen table, a pink teacup in her hand and a leaflet of paper in front of her.

“How much milk do we have?” she asked her nephew, as Harry pulled a brown paper packet of bacon out of the fridge.

“Half a bottle.”

“I’ll pick up another.” she replied, making a note of it.

Harry shrugged and arranged the thick slices of bacon on a frying pan, turning the heat up before he went to fill a kettle with water. The next fifteen minutes were silent as Harry flipped bacon, put bread in the toaster, cracked eggs, and finally, fitted two mugs with tea bags.

He piled two plates high with bacon, toast, and fried eggs, covering one with shredded cheese. The third plate remained more modest, and he put all three plates in the oven to keep warm.

“These are your chores.” Aunt Petunia held out a piece of paper, where a very long list resided.

Harry put two more slices of bread in the toaster before reaching for it, and read it over.

It wasn’t as bad as he had expected. The toast popped out and Harry looked at Aunt Petunia pleadingly.

“Toast only.” she warned, getting up from the table and heading towards the stairs, to alert her husband and son that breakfast was ready.

Harry didn’t hesitate, piling the first piece of hot toast with a few extra pieces of bacon he had cooked off and left in the pan, quickly eating his food in large bites and nearly choking himself. He washed it down with a cup of water from the tap, wiping his mouth just as Uncle Vernon walked into the kitchen with a suspicious look.

“Where’s my coffee, boy?”

Harry nodded, pulling down a large mug and filling it with the steaming black liquid Aunt Petunia had already brewed. He placed it in front of his uncle before returning for the cups of tea and plates of food.

No one thanked him, of course.

“I wanted sausages.” Dudley demanded, when Harry placed a plate in front of him.

“There aren’t any.” Harry told him, sitting at the table with his second piece of toast and a cup of tea.

Dudley turned to look at Uncle Vernon. “Dad!” he wailed, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. “He won’t make me sausages.”

“There aren’t any!” Harry repeated, feeling exasperated.

“Don’t give me that tone.” Uncle Vernon snapped.

Harry reached for the butter dish instead of replying, but his Aunt Petunia turned to coo at her child. “You’re a growing boy, Diddykins. You finished off all the sausages yesterday, remember? I’ll buy some more when I do the shopping today, alright?”

That seemed to appease the boy, for he began to eat.

“Now,” Uncle Vernon started, after he had finished his first cup of coffee and gestured towards Harry to refill it. “It’s a very important dinner we’re having tonight, and I want to make sure we’re all ready.”

Harry refilled his cup, listening to his aunt promise a delicious dinner complete with pudding and to his cousin mention an essay for school. Harry remained in the kitchen to finish the washing up, biting his tongue to keep from laughing. Mr. Mason as Dudley’s hero? Unbelievable.  
  
By the time he had finished, Uncle Vernon had left for work and Dudley had retired to the family room, where he was watching a loud cartoon on the telly. Aunt Petunia walked into the kitchen, a sunhat perched on her head.

“I’m going into town,” she told him, grabbing the grocery list she had made. “I expect you to be done when I return, as you’ll be helping me make dinner.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”  
  
“And don’t give Dudley a hard time.” she continued, heading for the door. “I don’t want to hear a single complaint from him.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

When Harry heard the front door open and close, he breathed a sigh of relief. He finished wiping down the counter and fetched the broom. By the time Aunt Petunia returned, he was moving the wash into the dryer, nearly everything all finished up.

“Come over here.”

She walked into the kitchen, placing a bouquet of snapdragons and zinnias into a glass vase and unloaded her basket of groceries.

“Wash the vegetables.” she ordered, as she went to check on Dudley.

The next few hours were alright, Harry supposed, as the two fell into a working silence preparing dinner. Harry washed and peeled carrots and parsnips for a roast, seasoned a tray of chicken thighs, and made the mashed potatoes all by himself.

“Anything else?” he asked, as Aunt Petunia pulled a vanilla cake out of the oven.

“Cut up the vegetables for a salad and make the dressing,” she instructed. “Then you can go fold the clothes and finish yesterday’s gardening. When the chicken is done, you may return to make a gravy out of the drippings.”

The last part was said as if it were a treat.

“I don’t know how to make gravy.” Harry told her, grabbing a clean cutting board.

Petunia gestured towards the cookbook she had propped open to a page on sugaring flowers for pudding. “You can read, can’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then read the recipe.” she sneered, returning to her task.

Harry finished his chores and returned to the kitchen, to find the dining table set with white linen and dark blue napkins, the flowers at the center. Silver platters waited on the counter and the scent of rolls baking in the oven filled the house.

Aunt Petunia pointed to the dirty baking tray where the chicken had been cooked, now covered in a pool of stock, grease, and fond. Harry found a recipe in the index of the cookbook and tried his best while his aunt went upstairs to get ready.

The gravy, in Harry’s opinion, turned out rather well. He had just snuck a second taste when Uncle Vernon walked into the kitchen.

“The Masons are pulling into the driveway,” he announced, straightening his new tie. “You know the rules, boy.”

“Go upstairs and don’t make a sound.”

Vernon nodded, anxiously eyeing the door. “If you mess this up for me, boy…” he warned. “This is a very important business deal – and those freaks of yours don’t give me anything for taking you in. I need all the money I can get.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

“Get out of here,” he demanded as the doorbell rang, turning towards the front hall.

Harry grabbed a warm roll before running upstairs, listening to the door open and the sounds of Dudley introducing himself. He shut his own door softly, relieved he wouldn’t be bothered for the evening, and flicked on his light. It took everything in him not to gasp loudly, but he dropped his dinner when his eyes landed on the small creature resting on his bed.

“Harry Potter!”

Harry smacked a hand over his mouth and tried his hardest not to make a sound. Sitting on his bed was a familiar sort of creature, one who jumped up upon seeing the boy and let out a sound of delight.

“Shush!” Harry whispered frantically.

Downstairs, the voices moved into the dining room. He eyed the creature with a frown. It was a house elf, just like the ones he had seen at Hogwarts – only this one wasn’t wearing the monogrammed tea towel the Hogwarts elves wore. Instead, this one was dressed in what looked like a dirty pillowcase. An expensive, dirty pillowcase.

“Who sent you?” he asked, barely noticing the golden box residing on the bed. “Who are you?”

“Master Malfoy has sent Dobby, sir.” Dobby replied, jumping up and down before bowing deeply. “He’s asked Dobby to bring Harry Potter a gift!”

“Hush!” Harry insisted, as the elf raised his voice in excitement. “Malfoy?” he repeated, the name finally registering. “Like, Draco Malfoy or Mr. Malfoy?”

“Master Draco, sirs.”

The boy nodded. “Alright, thank you then.” He picked up the box and shook it gently, trying to discern its contents. “Will that be all?” he asked pointedly. He sighed when the elf handed him an ivory envelope, but he took it and opened it carefully, listening intently to the sound of voices downstairs. He could hear his uncle boasting about Dudley’s first year at Smeltings, to approving murmurs from the Masons.

“Happy birthday, Harry!” Draco’s neat handwriting spelled out. He grinned as he realized this was the first birthday card he had ever received. His smile grew broader as he came across the invitation to spend a week or two at the Manor sometime in August.

“Draco wants me to stay at the Manor for a week.” he said to the waiting elf, who had long began looking at Harry with a look of masked apprehension. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Dobby repeated, sounding a little dazed. “Harry Potter wishes to know what is wrong with Dobby? Oh, but how shall Dobby tell Harry Potter he must not visit Malfoy Manor!”

“What, why?” Harry asked, heart sinking.

“Bad Dobby!” the house elf berated himself, when he caught sight of Harry’s crestfallen expression. “You’s not be telling wizards what to do!” He started banging his head against the bedpost, muttering angrily to himself. “You is a house-elf and Harry Potter is a wizard! Oh, but it is not safe for Harry Potter to go visit Master Draco in his home!”

“Why not?”

“Because Master Malfoy is—” Dobby stopped mid-sentence in alarm and started bashing his head even harder against the post. “Dobby is not speaking bad of Master Malfoy. Dobby would never speak bad of Master Malfoy. Dobby is just keeping Harry Potter safe and Harry Potter must not go!”

“Alright, alright, I won’t go!” Harry placated, trying to stop Dobby from hurting himself – and creating so much noise. Downstairs, the voices stopped and Harry’s heart started racing. There were heavy footsteps running up the stairs and Harry bit his lip as he anticipated the door being thrown open in anger.

Instead, Aunt Petunia’s voice hissed out from the other side of the wood. “You best keep quiet, you hear me! If you ruin this for Vernon, I’ll make sure you never make a sound again.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” Harry squeaked, relieved as the footfalls returned downstairs. He heard his aunt give a half-hearted excuse about Dudley leaving the telly on by mistake.

“Please stop doing that.” Harry begged the elf, helping him sit down on the bed. His eyes were wide-eyed and bright as he took in Harry with a look of sorrow.

“Dobby does not mean to bring Harry Potter pain,” he assured, wringing his long ears in tight fists. “Dobby just wants to –”

“Keep me safe, yeah, I got that.” Harry shook his head, not understanding the elf in the slightest, but if it meant he would stop causing a scene, he would say whatever the elf wanted to hear.

“Dobby is asking sir of something.”

“What is it?” the boy asked tiredly, sitting down next to him on the bed. He put the gift on the ground and looked at the elf warily.

“Please not be telling Master Draco or Master Malfoy.” Dobby begged softly. “They not be pleased with Dobby and Dobby is not disobeying to be rude, sir. Dobby is doing it for Harry Potter.”

“I won’t say anything.” Harry promised, unsure of how to broach the subject if he even wanted to talk about it with Draco. Oh, hullo Draco, how was your summer? Your insane house elf broke into my room and started banging his head on the bedpost after telling me it wasn’t safe to visit your home.

As if that would go over well.

Dobby looked as if he were about to burst into tears. “Oh, thank you, sir. Dobby has heard many things about Harry Potter. You’s defeated the Dark Wizard and all the house elves know your name! But Dobby is also hearing that Harry Potter is most kind and good! And you is, you is!” The house elf jumped off the bed and bowed his head, taking Harry’s hands in his and wringing them worriedly. “Dobby should not be telling Harry Potter what to do, but Dobby knows of Harry Potter’s goodness and not want him to hurt. Dobby is most grateful that Harry Potter understands.”

“Yeah, about that.” Harry muttered, pulling his hands away as politely as he could. “Why is it not safe to visit Draco?”

The elf looked torn. “Dobby not be speaking bad of his Master,” he warned, looking as if he were going to start hitting his head against the bedpost again. Harry casually placed a pillow against it. “Master Malfoy just not understand, he does not know, but a house elf does, but I’s cannot tell Master Malfoy he is wrong or Dobby will be punished.”

“I see.” Harry nodded, not understanding in the slightest.

“Dobby is helping Harry Potter,” the elf decided suddenly, perking up. “Harry Potter is most kind to Dobby, and Dobby wants to give Harry Potter a favor for his promise.”

“Oh, that’s oka--.”

“Dobby insists!”

“Okay, okay.” Harry gave in, putting his hands up. He wondered what sort of help a house elf could give him. He considered asking Dobby to curse the Dursleys but ultimately decided against it. “There is something I need you to help me get, actually.”

“Anything, sirs!”

“My trunk is locked away in the cupboard under the stairs and there’s something very important in there.” Before he could begin to explain what it was, Dobby had grabbed his wrist and Harry’s world turned upside down and inside out. He blinked rapidly, holding his breath. They were no longer standing in his room, but somewhere dark. It smelled musty (and familiar), so Harry reached up gingerly and searched for the thin chain that would turn on the light.

It took a moment for his stomach to settle and his eyes to adjust, but they were in fact downstairs. Dobby was taking a look around, perfectly at ease with the apparition. Harry shook his head and opened his trunk. He smiled, as he shuffled through stacks of books and gray jumpers. He idly wondered how he was going to get his new schoolbooks. He picked up his wand, wishing he could use it, but knew that was against the rules. Finally, he found the torn off piece of blank parchment he was looking for.

“Got it.” he whispered to Dobby. “Okay, we can go now, but can we stay downstairs?” he asked, reaching a hand out and readying himself for their exit.

It took another moment of adjusting his senses when they were suddenly standing in the front hall. He listened carefully; everyone had retired to the sitting room. Harry could hear that the conversation had finally turned towards drills.

He glanced down at the parchment. There was a telephone just inside the kitchen, with the dining room still separating them from the sitting room. If he whispered very quietly, he could make a phone call without the Dursleys noticing.

“Thank you for this Dobby,” Harry murmured, holding up the note. “I’ve got a phone call to make now, but with any luck, I won’t have to stay here any longer.” He unfolded the paper and watched as numbers appeared under his touch. “Perhaps he’ll take me to Draco’s.” he whispered to himself, expecting his Head of House to be busy with other things, but hoping he’ll make time for the trip. “I can stay there the rest of the summer instead.”

“Harry Potter said he would not go!”

“I can’t stay here, Dobby!” Harry kept his voice quiet, but firm. “The Dursleys are awful people; they don’t feed me, they make me work more than a kid should ever have to, and if I upset them…” he trailed off, shivering.

“Dobby will fix that.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, but Harry was only talking to himself. “Dobby!” he called out, as loudly as he could. Someone asked “did you hear something?” from the sitting room, but Uncle Vernon quickly diverted the attention back to himself. “Dobby!” Harry repeated, as he entered the kitchen and found the house elf standing there with a determined look.

“Dobby be doing this for Harry Potter.” the elf stated solemnly, staring ahead intently.

Harry followed his line of sight and was horrified to see the uncut pudding – the vanilla cake with sugared violets Aunt Petunia had worked painstakingly to finish – floating through the dining room. He ran towards it, desperate to grab it before it floated through the door and into the sitting room.

He reached it just inches from the doorway, but just as Harry’s fingers brushed against the platter, the door creaked open by itself, and the pudding was launched out of Harry’s hands and straight into the face of Mrs. Mason.

Several things happened at once.

The soft sound of apparition sounded behind him, as Dobby left the kitchen (and ultimately, Privet Drive), the plate clattered to the ground, flinging crumbs of cake and dollops of whipped cream (whatever wasn’t already covering the screaming woman’s face, mind you) around the room, the window shattered as a large barn owl flew into the room and dropped a letter at Harry’s feet, Aunt Petunia ran for a tea towel to clean up, Uncle Vernon’s voice apologized profusely, Mr. Mason began yelling at Uncle Vernon, and Mrs. Mason was running out the door with a terrified scream as the owl flew circles in the sitting room.

Dudley, at least, remained calm, whilst he reached for a discarded piece of cake, his lips wide with glee as he locked eyes with Harry and mouthed, “You’re in for it now.”

“Barbara!” Mr. Mason yelled, running after his wife. “I will not be working with a bunch of lunatics!” He called out behind him. “The deal is off.”

“That wasn’t Aunt Petunia.” Harry whispered to himself, as Dobby’s horrible plan finally clicked into understanding. He groaned, stumbling as someone pushed him forward harshly.  
Aunt Petunia was returning from the kitchen with a wet towel and an angry scowl, as she heard her nephew’s muttered words. She picked up the discarded letter and stepped into the living room, where her husband was going from ashen-faced to beet red as he rounded on Harry.

“You!” he pointed, the word deathly quiet.

“I didn’t mean –” Harry started, his heart thumping loudly as he looked between his aunt and uncle. “It was an accident.”

“An accident that the pudding somehow ended up being launched through two rooms and straight into Mrs. Mason’s face?” Petunia asked, her knuckles turning white from her grip on the letter. “Or an accident that it didn’t hit me instead?”

“I, um.”

“GET THAT OWL OUT OF MY HOUSE.” Petunia yelled, when she noticed the bird was perched atop of the telly. She threw the wet towel at it, and the bird hooted angrily before flying out the broken window. She turned to Harry, holding out the letter. “Read this.”

“Pardon?”

“Read. This.” she seethed, staring through Harry and at the broken window. “If it’s so important that a bloody owl had to crash itself through my house, you better read it then.”

Harry took the official looking envelope, one stamped with a black M and sealed with a drip of purple wax. He opened it and felt his heart sink.

“Read it aloud.”

“- Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkins. Improper Use of Magic Office, Ministry of Magic.” he finished. When he looked up, he wondered if he should feel relieved that Uncle Vernon no longer looked purple.

“It seems you forgot to tell us you weren’t allowed to use magic outside of school.” Uncle Vernon began, his eyes glinting the smallest bit. He stepped forwards threateningly. Harry swallowed and took a step back. “Maybe it slipped your mind.” He reached out, taking Harry’s wrist in a tight grip and pulling him forwards. “Perhaps you thought you could threaten us with your newly found knowledge of fancy spells? Make us think you could fight back if we hurt you?” he asked, walking towards the stairs with a struggling Harry.

“Well, I’ve got news for you,” he continued. “I’m locking you in your room…and you’re going to stay there as long as I please. You will no longer have chores to do, so consider yourself lucky. But if you think I am going to let you out… You will never leave this room. You will never return to that school. And if you try to magic your way out?” Uncle Vernon asked, his tone maniacal as he paused to shake Harry roughly. “They’ll expel you, and when they do, you’ll finally attend Saint Brutus – right where you belong.”

He shoved Harry into his room, grinning when the boy's footing faltered and he slipped on the threadbare rug, banging his elbows on the floorboards and the back of his head against the bedpost with a loud and painful thud.

Uncle Vernon reached for the owl cage, where Hedwig was watching the events unfold warily.

“Hey, give her back!” Harry demanded.  
  
“You are not allowed privileges.” Uncle Vernon tutted, shaking the cage as the bird started to screech. “Quiet you, or I’ll let you rot in there.” He turned to Harry. “She’s no longer allowed to fly out anymore, in case she decides to get help. Dudley will be responsible for feeding her once a day.” he added wickedly, and Harry wondered if Uncle Vernon knew Dudley would forget to feed her, or if he genuinely thought he was being appeasing.

Harry felt tears start to well up as the door slammed closed.

Minutes later, footsteps climbed upstairs and the door creaked open. Dudley’s face peered through the crack. He had cream on his upper lip and a sly grin.

“What do you want?” Harry asked bitterly.

“Dad said to watch you while he went to the garage.” Dudley shrugged, waggling his eyebrows. “He’s getting the drill, so who knows what he’s going to do to you.”

“Leave me alone.” Harry croaked.

Dudley pushed the door further open. “Are you going to cry then?” he asked.

“Leave me alone!”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you this all day!” Dudley’s eyes brightened, and he looked at Harry and his grin widened. “Happy birthday, Harry! Say, if it’s your birthday, why haven’t you gotten any cards from your friends? Did you not make any when you were away at freak school?”

Harry’s eyes widened in horror, as he remembered the box he had been given, abandoned when Dobby had apparated them downstairs without warning. He sat up quickly and looked around. The gift was gone, to his bewilderment, but he let out a sigh of relief nonetheless.

“Well?”

“If I get expelled, it would be worth it just to curse you!” Harry muttered angrily, turning back to Dudley and raising both hands in the air.

“You can’t do that!” Dudley yelled, looking horrified.

“Jiggery higgory–”

“Mom!” Dudley shouted, running in the opposite direction Harry had expected him to – as in, he ran towards Harry. He threw himself at the smaller boy and knocked him back down, panicked at the spell work. “DAD! HE’S TRYING TO CURSE ME!”

Harry coughed, feeling his ribs ache in protest. His head slammed against the headboard again and he struggled underneath his cousin. Footsteps pounded up the stairs.

“BOY!”

“It wasn’t a real spell!”

Dudley ran out of the room and Harry locked eyes with Uncle Vernon, who was in fact, holding into a drill with trembling hands.

He didn’t say anything further, just stepped out of Harry's room, slammed the door shut and started drilling into the door for several minutes. The sound of several locks sliding into place prompted his uncle to give a satisfied humph. “That’ll show you.” he called through the door, right before the wood began to tremble. Harry eyed it warily, not bothering to react when the blade of a saw eventually made its way through the oak.

Soon enough, his uncle had managed to saw a small hole near the bottom of the door, just big enough for Harry to slide three books through. “Tomorrow, I’ll have someone over to bar your window.” his uncle promised, finally walking away.

Harry slumped back, getting a feel for any potential injuries. His head was throbbing and his vision was blurring, but he found the cause for that when he blinked and tears started falling. His ribs were sore, but his chest was beginning to ache worse and worse with every breath. His breathing quickened, panic finally starting to uncurl in the pit of his stomach as the realization of what happened started to really process.

He was stuck here.

Harry’s spine stiffened, his body straight and as unmoving as he could keep it against the shaking spasms running through his body. He was stuck here. Hedwig would most likely die under Dudley’s care. He was never going back.

It took several minutes for the shaking to cease, his fingers sore from digging into the floorboards. He took a few experimental deep breaths, pleased when they no longer came in quick succession.

The sound of laughter drifted upstairs, reminding him that this wasn’t home.

He sat up slowly, dried tear-tracks making his face feel stiff and the aftereffects of an anxiety attack making his bones feel weary.

There wasn’t anything he could do.

His throat was desperate to let out a cry of pain, of defeat, of _something_ that could begin to cover everything he was feeling, but it wouldn’t help. He closed his eyes and laid back down, the shaggy rug and dusty floorboards once again a familiar touch.

He closed his eyes and dreamed of bracing winds and castle doors, of magic spells and billowing cloaks.

He dreamed of anywhere, but here.

**Author's Note:**

> And the first chapter is live! It has been nearly a year since I promised this, but I had been absolutely busy wedding planning! I am now married, the honeymoon is over, the full plotline has been written, and the first chapter is here!! Thank you for waiting patiently to my old readers and I dearly hope you'll enjoy this, to any new readers! Comment and reviews are gladly welcomed! Let me know what you think about this as a first chapter! 
> 
> \--
> 
> Credit is given where credit is due, whether it be J.K. Rowling or the wonderful members of the Harry Potter community who have put forth plot ideas, headcanons, and theories that will no doubt appear in this story.
> 
> Updates will be when they happen.


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